Alright
by StolenSapphires
Summary: Yay, another stupid Doctor Who drabble! I'm on a roll! OOC, once again. Or at least I think it is. I don't know, you tell me. Written when the 11th Doctor was still a bit new to the show and therefore I'm not used to how he thinks. R&R, no flames please.


A terrified yell ripped through the cool air, the sharp sound only slightly obscured by the soft hum of the TARDIS. The mangled cry echoed through the labyrinth of copper lined, dimly lit, impossibly bigger on the inside halls of the blue box. If you were to search every door way, every endless hall and every room contained within the space and time ship you would (eventually) find the shaking form of the Doctor, his face pale as the sheets now fisted in his trembling hands/ For a moment he stared, wide eyes and confused, around his rarely used bedroom, struggling to remember exactly what had been the cause of his sudden fear. The adrenaline that flowed thickly through his veins muddled his mind for several minutes before he finally remember d the cause of his scream as ta fresh wave of fear overcame him. The fear faded almost as soon as it had come. Quickly replace by a terrible pain that he vaguely recognized as the awful, haunting grief that had plagued him for years, buried beneath many years worth of cheer and childlike jor, cleverly hidden behind false smiles and strong words. The Time Lord didn't even bother to wipe away the single, solemn tear that rolled down his cheek as he cast away his carefully constructed façade of fake happiness, finally allowing himself a brief moment to feel all those awful pent up emotions that had built up over the years.

Though he tried desperately to avoid mentioning past companions in his usual meaningless rambling, the Doctor found himself regularly reminiscing about his old friends, sometimes for more often that he should be. For a while now he had been constantly thinking of one particular companion of his, one certain woman who was always on his mind nowadays. It was rather distracting really, and he was surprised that his current companions had not noticed him slipping up more often than he normally would, or drifting into a dreamy haze anytime anyone would mention something that reminded him of her. Whenever he was tinkering with the mess of tangled wires beneath the TARDIS console, or gibing one of his Oncoming Storm speeches to his latest alien foe, saving the day with his trusty sonic screwdriver, he couldn't help wondering what she might have done had she been at his side,

Some days he wished that he could stop thinking about he, just for a moment, and try to reclaim the happiness that she had brought him. He wanted to forget every day, every single second spent in her company, and then of course he could scold himself for even considering such a thing. Of course it hurt to remember; of course it was painful every time he recalled the sweet smell of the hair, or the feel of her soft hand in his.

Her laugh.

Her smile.

Oh _gods, _how he missed her.

The Doctor clambered out of bed, his feet landing heavily on the cool wooden floor, bouncing gently on the edge of the thick downy mattress and griping his shaking hands together. The Doctor's room was that some might confuse for a small library/mechanic's shop, heavy bookcases cluttered with battered leather books and thick yellowing scrolls (and perhaps the occasional shard of hieroglyph engraved pottery) covering three out of the four walls. The fourth wall was wallpapered with pictures of many different people, standing in front of various historical places and exotic looking planets. Each picture was taped to the wall and a yellow sticky note was placed next to each, interlocking hexagons and circles scribbled on them messily. He strolled over to the photo collage and plucked off a picture of a young blonde woman wearing a battered blue jacket and faded blue jeans with a pink tank top. She was standing hand in hand with a tall, thin, spiky haired man with a brown pinstriped suit, long brown trench coat and worn white converse trainers. Both were standing side by side in a front of a bright blue police box and a London alley ways with matching huge grins on their faces. The lonely god smiled sadly, thinking of everything that had happened to him with that face.

"_New teeth, that's weird."_

"_New, new Doctor."_

"_Yep, still got it."_

"_HOLD ON!"_

"_I… I love you."_

"_Quite right to."_

"_Her name was Rose."_

"_REGENERATE!"_

"_Why don't you ask her yourself?"_

"_Long time no see."_

"_Does it need saying?"_

"_I think you're going to have really great year."_

"_I don't want to go!"_

The Doctor winced slightly, cursing himself and his terrible selflessness. He recalled thinking that just that once, maybe he could afford to be selfish. Just maybe he could have something that he wanted-needed-without there being world threatening consequences. For a while he thought that he could just pretend that he was not the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, last of the Time Lords; constantly striving to protect the universe, no matter the sacrifices, then the stars started going out, the universes simultaneously imploding in on themselves. Then came Davros, and the Daleks, and the Medusa Cascade, and then of course _he _came along.

"_I've only got one life, Rose Tyler. I could spend it with you, if you want."_

He had never, not _once,_ thought that he would regret not having the family life, but she made domestic sound so…

"_Fantastic!"_

He sighed softly, a sad, defeated sound, and dropped the photo, slopping back onto his bed with his head in his hands. It wasn't healthy to dwell so much on the past; she was gone, lost, and this time she could not be coming back.

He had made sure of that.

The Doctor flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as if it contained the answers to all his problems. He briefly studied the messy gallifreian letters scrawled there, carved into the ancient reddish mahogany of his bed. He had been a bit of a rebel at one point many years ago, back when he had still worn that ridiculous (though admittedly very cool) scarf. He tried to shift his train of though to memories of those days, but his Time Lord mind, though quite brilliant, was also incredibly stubborn.

"_You know, they keep tryin' to split us up but they never, ever will!"_

"_Never say never ever."_

"_Nah. We'll always be alright, you and me."_

"_I'm the Doctor and this is Rose Tyler. She's my plus one!"_

"_I can dance!"_

"_I think you need a Doctor."_

"_Better a broken heart than no heart at all."_

"_You try it, you try it!"_

"_Would you do this? Think about it, Doctor. One last day with your beloved; which day would you choose?"_

He slowly closed his eyes, drowning in memories of what could have been. In the last few moments before his regeneration, the Doctor had been perfectly alright with the realization that his new self way no longer care for Rose the way that his former self had. Afterward he had hardly ever thought of her, putting the memory of her in a rusty corner of his mind, waiting to be forgotten. Then tonight of all nights he had a dream of her, falling; falling with no one there to save her while he stood motionless, a helpless phantom presence, forced to watch. To only observe, never interfere. After that all the memories had come rushing back, and the Doctor found that he had been missing her, far more than he had planned. He shot into an upright position was the tall, ancient looking double doors across the Victorian four poster bed on which he sat burst open to reveal a firry ginger woman sporting an incredibly short skirted police uniform beside a mousy haired man in heavy roman armor that shone slightly in the dim light spilling in the from the hallway. Briefly it crossed the Doctor's mind to inquire about what it was that they were doing in those outfits before he quickly decided that he really didn't want to know.

"Doctor!" the concerned couple cried in near perfect unison, staring him down with intense worry in their eyes. The woman carefully made her way over to his bedside, picking her way through the bits and pieces of discarded machinery strewn haphazardly across the floor, littering the large room. She stood slightly bend over by the grand bed, almost eye lever to the equally grand man sitting there.

"We heard you scream," Amy deadpanned, placing her slender hands on her hips and looking at his quizzically. When he simply stared further into empty space, choosing not to respond and refusing to meet her scrutinizing gaze, she relaxed slightly, leaning closer until she was inches from the solemn Time Lord. "Are you alright?" she questioned softly.

"_Is that special Time Lord code for 'really not alright at all'?"_

"_Why?"_

"_Because I'm alright, too."_

He turned his head painfully slowly to stare back at her, quickly masking his sorrow with a cheesy grin and childish disposition, a disguise that he knew even a blind man would see through, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment.

"I'm always alright."

"_Rule number one:_

_The Doctor lies."_


End file.
